


Social Distancing

by DementedPixie



Series: Demented Pixie's Buckystuckyfanfic [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food, Healing, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24108520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie
Summary: After the events of The Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers enlists the help of his friends to find Bucky and to offer him a home.Written during Lock Down 2020, with help from, and therefore dedicated to, Lauren, Amy, Naomi and Cyndra.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Demented Pixie's Buckystuckyfanfic [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264823
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	Social Distancing

If there’s one thing that Bucky Barnes remembers, it’s coffee shops. Right from when he was using them as late night meeting places in the 30s he’s been an addict of the black stuff and the shops that sold it. 

Like Bucky, coffee has changed a lot over the years. The Italian influence has made it overly milky and full of froth, and he sighed with uncertainty into his oversized cup as he took his usual seat in the window. 

Waiting. 

Steve didn’t come here all the time but on a sunny New York day, assuming aliens weren’t invading, it was almost a guarantee that an off duty Captain America would take a seat at one of the outside tables. The Pershing Square cafe gave Steve a clear view of the ornate façade of Grand Central Station and, if you were lucky enough to spot him, he’d invariably be sketching, his own coffee going cold on the side. 

Bucky’s own shop of choice was to be found directly opposite, a small vendor with only a handle of seats by the window, busy, but full of people who would come in, grab their order and go. 

Bucky was one of the few who stayed. 

It started just after he rescued Captain America from the Potomac. As the Winter Soldier staggered away from the scene his head was already exploding in a confused muddle of memories, words, scenes and events, none of which tied together or made sense. But there was one constant amongst it all, and that was Steve Rogers. 

For a week, Bucky watched the hospital where Steve had been taken, seeing people he knew as Falcon, Black Widow and Hawkeye coming and going so often there was no way the patient was ever left alone. 

This, Bucky approved of. 

When Steve was finally released Bucky followed him on his first excursion out. In Bucky’s view Steve should still have been in recovery, not mixing with the hoi polloi of New York. And so he had followed him at a discrete distance until they got to the café in front of Grand Central Station. 

Steve had chatted to the waitress for a few minutes, taken a seat, and started to draw on his napkin. 

And Bucky had settled down to watch him from the coffee shop opposite which had now become his favourite haunt, partly because they never bothered him no matter how long he took over his one single coffee. 

Steve was, as always, completely ignorant of the attention his movements were attracting, as the days trickled by and Bucky carried on his constant surveillance.

A whole new season was on the horizon, that first hint of warmth you get with late Spring, and Bucky found himself falling into the first real routine he’d experienced since the army training he’d received in the war. 

The number of occasions when Steve appeared for coffee increased and Bucky didn’t miss a single one. 

And Steve remained completely oblivious. 

******

Steve Rogers had been an artist since he could hold a pencil. It was his way of relaxing, of creating, what they call these days, ‘mindfullness’. He would sketch wherever he found himself, in army camps, on aircraft, during Nick Fury’s interminable briefings, and when sitting alone in restaurants or coffee shops. He loved drawing, yes, but that didn’t mean he was necessarily content to keep drawing exactly the same subject every day for a week. 

He thought Bucky would realise that, that he wouldn’t assume that Steve was totally stupid and ignorant of being tailed, his every movement watched by a dark shadow. He was a little disappointed that his old friend thought so little of his observation skills, but maybe it was Bucky whose skills were failing him. 

And not only did that worry Steve, but it wasn’t the only thing. The main worry on Steve’s mind was the way his old friend looked - dishevelled, unkempt, and uncharacteristically thin. 

Steve’s phoned pinged to notify him of an incoming text.

“Your boy there today?”

Steve hated texting with a vengeance, so he picked the phone up and dialled Sam’s number. 

“Hey.”

“Hi Sam,” said Steve, not even looking round to check. “Yes, he’s here.”

“Still doesn’t know you’ve seen him.”

“I don’t suppose he’d still be here if he did.”

“Hmm. You know this is crazy, right? Why don’t you go talk to him?”

Steve noticed a smudge on his napkin and turned his pencil over to use the eraser on it. 

“Because I’m waiting for him to be ready, Sam, you know that.”

“Did you do what you said you’d do?”

“I did, yes. Should be any minute now.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it. Later, Steve.”

“Bye, Sam.”

Steve always angled himself so that he could draw the beautiful station entrance, but his position also meant he could clearly see the coffee shop opposite reflected in the windows that lined the street. 

Using this method he openly kept watch on Bucky, noticing how he sipped at his coffee slowly, making it last as long as possible. And how he was favouring his right side, evidently in some pain from what Steve assumed was still that dislocated shoulder. He also saw with great clarity as the server brought a large grilled cheese sandwich, a green salad, and a smoothie over to Bucky, placing it all in front of him on a tray. Steve tried really hard not to laugh at Bucky’s reaction, watching as he shook his head and waved his hand in denial. The server just put his hands up and backed away, leaving Bucky with his lunch. Bucky stared at it for a few moments, as if it was going to bite him, then, unable to resist any longer and apparently deeming it harmless, bit into the grilled cheese.

Steve relaxed, taking a sip of his coffee. 

Bucky Barnes was going to get a square meal if it was the last thing Steve Rogers did. 

******

It was late, not quite sundown but not far off, when Steve’s cafe started to close. He picked up his belongings, shoving his phone, keys and scraps of artwork into his pockets. Waving goodbye to the waitress, he turned away and started the long walk home. 

“Cap, you there?” Clint’s voice echoed into the earpiece that Steve had been wearing since being released from hospital. This was a mission, after all, and required all the necessary equipment.

He pressed the communicator with his fingers. “Report, Clint.”

“He’s still following you, but he’s good. Even I’m struggling to see him at times.”

“Any idea where he’s staying overnight yet?”

“I won’t lose him tonight,” promised Clint. 

“Roger that. Let me know.”

“Hawkeye out.”

******

In the end, Hawkeye did lose Bucky that night, several times over. It seemed as though Bucky had the ability to blend into any situation he found himself, whether losing himself in a crowd or just vanishing into thin air. 

Hawkeye was no slouch when it came to surveillance, in fact he prided himself on his abilities, but this Winter Soldier was certainly putting him to the test. 

It was when he’d been tailing him through the closed stalls of a food market only to find out his quarry had transformed into an elderly hobo, that Hawkeye finally realised he was going to have to up his game. 

*******

The next day the sun had vanished behind a bank of cloud cover that definitely threatened rain. That didn’t bother Steve, he just made sure he sat at a table that had an umbrella. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands and held his mug of coffee to warm them.

“Can I interest you in todays specials?” asked the waitress, smiling warmly at him. 

“Sure, thanks,” replied Steve. “What do you have?”

“Well the chef is really proud of his meatloaf, unless you’re a vegetarian?”

“No,” Steve shook his head. “Not a vegetarian. And meatloaf would be great, thank you.”

“Sure you don’t want a seat inside?” she asked.

“I’m sure, thanks.”

As she walked away something occurred to Steve.

“Miss? Could I get a portion of that meatloaf to go, as well?”

“No problem.”

Waking up all these years in the future was, naturally, a shock at first. But there were things about the modern world that Steve really appreciated, and one was definitely the way that technology had advanced. It only took him a couple of minutes to organise what he wanted. 

As he tucked into his dinner he paused for a moment to sign the hand held device that the courier passed him, then settled back to watch as the wrapped portion of meatloaf was delivered to Bucky in the café opposite. 

******

Steve lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. His apartment at Avengers Tower was modern and fully equipped with everything he needed, but it still didn’t feel like home. For one thing, Steve had never slept in a bed like this before. It was long enough that his feet didn’t overhang the end, and wide enough for him to spread both his arms out without finding the sides. He had six, yes six, pillows, and his sheets were soft Egyptian cotton. He had chenille blankets which he found quite comforting but rarely used because the apartment was temperature controlled. 

But Sam was right, as always, when he said Steve’s bed was too soft. Everything was either too soft, too new, too expensive, too alien. Just… not right. 

He sighed, rolling onto his side to try to get comfortable enough to drift off. 

Before his mind could wander from his own, extravagant bed to where on earth Bucky was finding to sleep at night, a subject that would absolutely ensure his own insomnia, his communicator beeped. He leapt up, grabbing it from the bedside table, pressing it into his ear. 

“Rogers.”

“I found him, Cap.” Clint sounded out of breath as he spoke. “Or you could say he let me find him.”

Steve wriggled out of his pyjama pants, stepping out of them as he rushed across the room to the pile of discarded clothes he had left on the chair.

“Co-ordinates,” he replied, pulling on his boots. 

“Just sending them to your phone.”

“Do we need backup?”

“I can call Falcon.”

“Yes, thanks, Clint. On my way.”

“Out.”

Steve took a second to breathe deeply, before grabbing his leather jacket and pulling it on. As he left the apartment he snagged the shield from where he had left it by the door. He wasn’t sure why he would need it, but his instincts rarely failed him. 

“Hold on, Buck, I’m coming.”

******

It has to be said that some superheroes have mastered the ability to travel and arrive at their destination silently and without detection, but sadly that was only the case for two out of the three men who were now converging on the dark alley a few blocks from Avengers Tower. Sam’s wing mechanism whirred and clanked as he landed, Steve’s Harley was so loud you could hear it in New Jersey, and only Clint moved without sound, almost tiptoeing to meet the others as they arrived.

Steve kicked out the side stand and turned off the engine, before climbing off the bike and striding across to Clint and Sam. 

“Jesus,” whispered Clint, “way to tell everyone we’re here.”

Steve raised his eyebrows in guilty realisation. “Sorry,” he whispered back. 

Clint gestured down the alleyway with his bow. “He’s down there.” Nodding at Steve, he added, “I think you should go first.”

“Well…”

“He knows you, Cap.”

“Is there an exit at the far end?” asked Sam.

“Yes,” replied Clint. “Wanna cover it?”

“On my way.” Sam hesitated for a moment, before adding. “Quietly.” Instead of re-opening his wings he started jogging along the dark, isolated street before turning off left to bring himself back to the far end. 

Clint nodded at Steve, encouragingly, and together then started to walk down the alley. 

Of course, over the last couple of weeks Steve had seen Bucky a lot. Outside the hospital, inside the hospital, standing opposite Avengers Tower, following Steve in the street and on the subway, not to mention in the coffee shop. But it had all been at a distance, blurred, with Steve not being able to look directly at him in case he got spooked. This was the first time Steve had been able to see Bucky close up since they’d fought each other on the Helicarrier. 

And he suddenly found himself wishing fervently that he couldn’t see Bucky at all, the reality far far worse than anything he had been imagining

Clint’s whispered “Steve,” was accompanied by a poke to his arm from his bow. It did the trick, bringing him back to himself and the job in hand. 

Slowly, he crouched down in front of the bedraggled, huddled figure who was doing his best to hide behind a huge, smelly, dumpster. 

“Buck,” he said, quietly. “Do you know me?”

Bucky’s eyes were hidden behind a curtain of greasy hair but a light flickered in them as he looked up. 

“You’re Steve,” he replied, his voice gravelly, like he’d just smoked 20 Lucky Strikes. 

Steve dragged a shadow of a smile onto this face in the hope Bucky would find it soothing. “That’s right. You remember me?”

“You’re my mission.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, like a much-practiced doctrine. 

The smile flickered a little. “I was your mission, but then you rescued me. Remember?”

Bucky’s eyes closed and Steve realised his friend was shaking like a leaf on a tree in Autumn. He held his hand out, keeping his distance and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. 

“Will you let me help you?” he asked, as Bucky blinked his eyes open and re-established eye contact. 

“More grilled cheese?” 

When Steve grinned this time his smile was genuine. 

“You knew that was from me?”

Bucky licked his lips to moisten them. “They said they had a fund to feed homeless people.”

“Well they were right, in a way.”

“I never said thank you.”

Steve reached out and patted Bucky on his left shoulder. “You’re welcome, Buck.”

******

For all their planning, somehow, the three Avengers were now lost as to what to do next. 

“Take him back to the Tower,” suggested Sam, nodding at Bucky who was now seated on Steve’s motorbike, a little folded in on himself but at least still with them. 

“No way,” said Steve. “Three reasons. Stark, Stark, and Stark.”

Sam laughed at him. “Yeah, good point well made. So where?”

Clint folded up his bow with a click. “I have a place,” he said. 

Sam put his hands on his hips, all attitude. “How come you always seem to have a place?” he asked. 

“I’m a spy, not a soldier,” said Clint. “You never know when you might need a safehouse.”

“I’m a soldier, not a spy,” replied Sam. “And I’d rather be up front about it.”

Steve had moved closer to Bucky as they spoke, considering him carefully. “Is it far?” he asked. 

“No,” said Clint. “It’s close, but safe. I’ve staked my life on it once or twice myself. And no,” he added, looking at Sam, “I’m not telling you where it is.”

“Trust me, Barton, I don’t want to know. When people start to notice something’s not right, I want to be convincing when I have to lie to them.”

“So,” said Steve, thoughtfully, “you’re happy to leave this to me and Clint?”

“Not happy, exactly,” admitted Sam, “but I’m sure you’ll manage. You know where to find me if you don’t.”

Steve turned towards him, holding his hand out to shake before seeming to reconsider. That was when Sam found himself enveloped in a superhero hug that nearly broke his ribs with its ferocity. 

“I owe you, Sam,” Steve breathed into his ear. 

“Captain America needed my help. I’m never gonna say no to that, Steve. Just… take care of your boy, okay?”

“That is one thing I can promise you.”

******

The short ride over to the Lower East Side didn’t take long, but it was still the strangest ride of Steve’s life. At first they’d tried to seat Bucky on the bike behind Steve but none of them felt confident that he would be able to hold on securely enough. So, in the end Clint had to climb on too, sandwiching Bucky between them. 

As Sam waved them off Steve saw him shaking his head in disbelief at the strange picture they made, but then he was all about focussing on keeping the bike stable as they made their way through the thankfully quiet streets.

With his bow, arrows and Cap’s shield all carefully balanced on his back, Clint reached around Bucky to grab hold of Steve’s belt loops, all the time feeling like a cross between a koala and a turtle.

With only two sets of pegs there was no room for all of their feet, so Clint balanced one foot on the exhaust pipe, trying to ignore the ever increasing heat that was making its way through the sole of his boot. His other foot dangled in the air, his thighs clenching as he tried to keep his leg bent.

Bucky, luckily for them, was a shadow of his former self, and he pressed himself hard into Steve’s back to try and minimise the space that he was taking up. It didn’t stop his hair from blowing in Clint’s face though. 

And when they went around a bend in the road and Steve instinctively leaned into it, Clint really thought the end of the world was nigh. 

When they finally pulled up at Orchard Street Clint almost fell off the back of the bike, enabling Steve to gratefully shuffle backwards from where his family jewels had been scrunched up against the gas tank. Steve slid off the bike sideways, pulling at his pants to adjust himself with some evident relief. 

Last of all, he helped Bucky climb off the bike.

“Okay?” he asked with concern. 

Bucky nodded at him in reply, but then as he took a step away he stumbled enough to warrant Steve reaching out to support him. 

Windswept, hopping on one foot and red in the face, Clint quickly pulled himself together. 

“I’ll take him, you get the Harley round the back,” he said, handing Steve his shield back. “There’s a tarp for the bike under the rear steps.”

Still flustered himself, Steve handed Bucky over to Clint, then set about securing the bike out of view. 

“Which floor?” he called, as Clint slipped an arm around Bucky’s shoulder.

“Fifth, top of the shop. Don’t worry, I’ll get him up there.”

Climbing five flights wasn’t easy at the best of times, but by the time they finally reached the front door of Clint’s little hideaway, Bucky was wheezing and struggling for breath. The sound of footsteps echoed up the stairwell as Steve followed them up at top speed. It was a challenge, but at last they were in, Clint depositing his new house guest on the sofa so that he and Steve could do a reccie of their surroundings. 

“Bike okay?” he asked.

Steve nodded in reply. “And out of sight,” he confirmed. “Everything secure here?”

“As it should be,” replied Clint, walking across to the bedroom to check inside. 

“Neighbours?” asked Steve, taking a look out of the window that bordered the main road.

“Old man on the floor below, I’d trust him with my life. The other apartments are used as storage for the shop. You noticed the shop, I take it?”

Steve smiled. “I did. The best Lox in the world.”

Clint’s surprise was clear. “You’ve been here before?”

“Not since the 30s,” replied Steve. “I’m hoping it hasn’t changed much.”

“Did someone say Lox?” Bucky’s voice was faint, but the fact that his interest had clearly been piqued made both the other men smile. 

As Steve pulled a chair out from the table and sat down, chatting nonsense to Bucky about bagels and smoked salmon, Clint threw the bolt on the front door, relieved beyond measure. Whatever happened now, he knew they were going to be safe. 

******

Bucky was so exhausted that Steve was sorely tempted to lift him up and carry him, bridal style, to bed, but in the end settled for slipping an arm around his waist to help take some of his weight. Clint set about pulling out the sofa bed in the lounge, muttering something about Bucky being Steve’s job since he knew him best, and Steve wasn’t about to argue. The problem was that the flat only had a shower, no tub, and it was highly unlikely Bucky was going to be able to stay vertical long enough to use it. 

Settling Bucky onto the bed Steve vanished into the bathroom, filling a large bowl with warm, soapy water and gathering up all the supplies he needed. Because this was something he knew a lot about, and, having been on the receiving end himself many times in the days before the serum, he wasn’t at all bothered by the service he was about to perform. 

As he came back into the room he pulled up short, his heart twisting in sympathy at the sight of the man seated before him. Bucky had apparently been trying to help things along by getting himself undressed. His jacket was on the floor, with a small arsenal dumped in a heap next to it. He’d also managed to get one boot off and was now slowly trying to untangle the laces on the other, but was being defeated by his own footwear.

Steve placed the bowl and towels on the dresser and came to kneel in front of his friend. 

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to say that it didn’t matter, that Steve would do anything for Bucky, now and always. That nothing from the past mattered anymore. That Bucky was safe here, and shouldn’t be ashamed or embarrassed by the situation he now found himself in. That Steve would tend his wounds, help him wash, keep him warm, give him sanctuary. Love him, then, now, always. 

He wanted to say it all, but all he actually said was, “Let me help.”

And, just like that, Bucky relinquished control. He sighed, and moved his foot nearer to Steve, who immediately started to untangle the knotted laces. The boot came off, along with his sodden and bad smelling socks, then his pants and sweater. Steve spread two large towels on the bed and helped Bucky to recline back onto them, before relieving him of his shorts and placing another towel across his hips to preserve his modesty. 

With a quiet confidence that Steve knew from personal experience was essential in order to dispel any awkwardness, he squeezed out the cloth in the bowl and started to gently sponge the dirt away from Bucky’s body. Each movement was firm but careful, as he worked down the front of Bucky’s legs, as long and slim as Steve remembered them. He paid special attention to his toes and feet, making a personal note to rub some moisturiser into them later if Bucky would allow it. 

Then he helped Bucky to roll onto one side so that Steve could wash his back, trying to put aside his anger at the number of new scars he found there, not least the angry mass of roped scar tissue pulled tight around the prosthetic. 

He left Bucky’s more intimate areas to last, making quick, efficient work of soaping him up and rinsing him off. Then he used the towels to softly pat everything dry before returning to the bathroom to empty and refill the bowl. 

With a bit of clever positioning Bucky managed to get his hair into the bowl of fresh water as Steve used a cup to rinse and shampoo the greasy, unkempt locks. 

Then, seeing that Bucky’s energy reserves had all but run out, Steve towel dried his hair as much as possible before pulling down the sheets and blankets and helping Bucky to get into bed.

By the time Steve had cleared everything away and spread Bucky’s clothes on the radiators to dry, Bucky was asleep. Asleep, cared for, warm, and safe. That was all Steve had been praying for. But there was one last thing. One small gift that Steve felt unable to deny himself. He smoothed down the covers, turned the overhead light off, and curled up on top of the quilt next to his friend. 

All the things he had done were to provide comfort to Bucky, his best friend since they had been kids together in Brooklyn. But this, lying on his side watching Bucky sleep, this was comfort for himself. And nobody was going to take this away. 

******

Bucky woke up with his head in a fog, something he was very used to these days. What he wasn’t quite as used to was waking up warm, dry, and in an actual, honest to goodness, bed. He lay there for a while with his eyes closed, revelling in the luxury of the moment. His hand brushed the soft quilt, even though the movement abruptly brought back the pain in his shoulder. 

The groan he let out was quiet but apparently loud enough to be heard by super soldier hearing, as a polite knock on the door was followed by Steve sticking his head around it.

“You’re awake!” he said, with a smile that didn’t falter even though Bucky didn’t respond. “I hope you’re hungry, Clint’s gone down to the shop to get breakfast. I asked him to get your favourite, if I remembered right.”

With some effort, Bucky pushed himself to a seated position and leant back on the padded headboard, holding his hand up to prevent Steve from inevitably rushing over to help him. 

His forehead wrinkled as he remembered something. 

“You undressed me?”

Steve’s smile flickered. “You were soaking wet, Buck. And sorry, but you were filthy. Your clothes are drying by the window in the other room.”

“Enjoy playing nurse, did you?”

“Oh come on, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and nothing you haven’t done for me.”

Bucky’s face clouded over a little, as he apparently tried to remember what Steve was referring to. “So, what do I wear?”

Steve got up and opened a drawer of the dresser, pulling out items of clothing. “This will do for now, and I’ll bring some of mine for you when I come back. Clint said he’d go to the laundromat tomorrow, so you’ll have your own stuff back.”

A noise outside alerted them of Clint’s return and, sure enough, he was soon bustling into the bedroom with a brown paper bag of delicious smelling food in one hand and holding a cardboard tray with three takeout coffee cups firmly slotted into it with the other. Without any of Steve’s hesitation or reluctance to encroach on Bucky’s space, Clint sat on the bed and started to unload their breakfast.

“God, those people downstairs are amazing, what an incredible store. Here, you mentioned this last night so I got us all bagels, cream cheese and lox, with a side of capers. There’s cream and sugar in the bag for the coffee.” 

Having completed his task Clint finally stopped talking and looked expectantly at Bucky, who was staring in awe at the spread laid out on his bed like a picnic. Clint gently nudged one of the sandwiches towards him. 

“It’s okay,” he said, quietly, “it’s yours. Take it.”

Bucky looked at him before glancing across at Steve who had a similar expression of encouragement on his face. Leading by example, Steve approached the bed, reached over and picked up his own bagel, unwrapping it slowly before taking a small bite. 

“It’s good, Buck,” he said. “Real good. Just like I remember.”

“Let the guy eat without turning it into a memory contest,” muttered Clint. 

“I wasn’t!” objected Steve. “Just… Bucky. Just try it.”

Slowly, Bucky picked up the Bagel nearest him, unwrapped the paper and stared at it, much as he had done with the grilled cheese Steve had sent him in the coffee shop. Until after a few seconds he took a small bite, the cream cheese squishing out of the sides and onto his fingers. 

“Good?” asked Clint, offering him a napkin.

Instead of taking it, Bucky opted to lick his fingers clean. “Mmm,” he replied, his face flickering into a smile for the first time. 

There was a huge release of tension that nobody had realised was there, as Steve joined them by sitting on the bed, and the three men worked their way through breakfast with an enthusiasm that the owners of the bagel shop would have been proud of.

******

As Clint cleared up the breakfast things, Steve remained seated on the bed, his face serious once more. 

“Okay, Buck, here’s the deal.”

Bucky blinked at him, finding it a little difficult to focus after all the heavy calories he’d taken in but evidently trying his best. 

“Clint’s staying here with you, but I gotta go, pal. If I vanish, people notice.”

“Whereas nobody cares where I am,” added Clint, grinning mischievously. 

“Not true,” said Steve. “Believe me, we notice when you’re there.”

“Ha ha.”

“Anyway,” continued Steve, “I have to go back to the tower. To work. But any chance I get I’ll be back to check on you both.”

“Without drawing attention to where you’re going,” added Clint. 

“Obviously,” agreed Steve. “So is that okay with you?”

Bucky stared at him, trying to take it all in. 

“You want me to stay here?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes,” confirmed Steve. “With Clint.”

“Why?”

Steve glanced at Clint who shrugged his shoulders. 

“Because we want to help you, Buck. Help you get better, get fit. But we can’t do that out in the open because, well…”

“We don’t want you getting arrested,” finished Clint. 

There was a long pause as Bucky absorbed this, before Steve felt the need to fill the silence again. 

“There’s money,” he said, getting his wallet out and handing Clint a sizeable bundle of notes. “Lots of it. So there’ll be enough food, and anything you want. I’d like it if you’d rest that shoulder, and… just take some time.”

“Time?”

“Yeah, just, relax. There’s nobody after you, no-one knows you’re here. You can just recharge, get well again. Okay?”

“But you have to go,” Bucky glanced at the window, “out there.”

“I do, yes. But I’ll be back. And I can bring you anything you need. I’m not abandoning you, Bucky, far from it. We just have to play this carefully.”

“And talking of playing,” said Clint, pulling a pack of cards out of his pocket and throwing them on the bed in front of Bucky. “What’s your poison?”

Bucky picked up the pack and inspected it. “Pinochle,” he replied, distantly, as if it was a word he’d never said before, instantly confused as to why it had come into his head.

Steve got up and backed away. “Oh that really is my clue to leave,” he said. “Clint, hold on to your wallet!”

******

As they spent their first full day together, Clint quickly realised it wasn’t all going to be pumpernickel and gin rummy. 

Steve had been called on a mission as soon as he got back to the Tower, and Clint read out his obviously hastily typed text message to Bucky. The problem was that if Bucky was a little awkward around Steve, he was positively paranoid around Clint. 

Clint went out for more supplies at lunchtime, bringing back something hot and fresh in a brown paper bag to try to tempt Bucky to eat. 

And that was challenge number one. 

Every item of food placed in front of Bucky was treated with suspicion, as if he was about to be poisoned. And without Steve there to reassure him, Bucky was less inclined to trust even the most innocent sandwich. He would eat, but slowly, and often only a few bites. 

So much for helping him to get better. Clint felt he was failing at the first hurdle. 

Becoming more and more frustrated, Clint waited until Bucky took a nap on the sofa before sitting at the table and opening the laptop to do what he should have done from the start. He called up the scanned copies of Natasha’s purloined Hydra files and started to read.

Clicking from page to page, he took in the level of horror that his houseguest had suffered through, until his stomach started to rebel against his choice of reading material. He read until his vision blurred, blinking his eyes to keep away the encroaching tears that he could feel forming. 

“I am so out of my depth,” he whispered to himself. 

And that was Clint Barton’s first personal experience of why The Winter Soldier had built up such a reputation. 

“You can ask me,” said Bucky, softly. “I don’t mind.”

“Shit!” exclaimed Clint, jumping out of his skin as he spun around, to find Bucky standing immediately behind him. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I know,” replied Bucky, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. “So. Ask me.”

Clint’s eyes lit up with the realisation that maybe he could get Bucky to take part in an actual conversation.

“Anything?”

“Anything. You’ve seen the files, there are no secrets. I don’t remember everything, but yeah, you can ask.”

Clint hesitated for a moment. And then he realised what he wanted to say. 

“Look, I am really honoured. That you would trust me that much. But there’s really only one thing I want us to talk about, and it might not be what you expect.” Clint leaned forward, placing his hands palm upwards on the table. “All this stuff, the… mind control. It happened to me too, okay. Only caused by an alien, of all things. And I find it hard to discuss, with anyone, actually. But I think it might help, if you knew. That I understand.”

“Okay,” said Bucky, running his hand through his hair to pull it away from his face. “So feed me, and we’ll talk.”

“You’ll eat?” asked Clint, an expression of hope on his face.

Bucky nodded, unable to resist him any longer. “Sure. I’ll eat.”

******  
Clint decided to bring out the big guns. Singing show tunes in the kitchen as he cut up onions, he started to prepare his own family recipe macaroni and cheese, with added mustard, spinach, and a sprinkle of crispy fried bacon and onions on the top. Clint was proud of his mac and cheese, and it made him happy just to cook it, never mind eating it or sharing it with others. 

Bucky sat at the table, watching everything with a distant interest.

“This is my Mom’s,” Clint explained. “Makes me think of home.” He dished the steaming pile of cheesy pasta into two bowls and carried them over to Bucky, sitting next to him and handing him a bowl. “Careful, it’ll be hot.”

“I’m not a baby,” snarked Bucky, staring into his bowl of macaroni.

“Sorry,” replied Clint, affably. “I do have two kids, you know. One of each. This is their favourite dinner.”

“Is that why they picked you to watch me? Because you’re good with children.”

“Hey man. I know you’ve been through a lot. Hell, I have no idea how you’re even functioning right now. And I guess it does feel like I’m having to spoon feed you, or remind you to wash and look after yourself. You’re a grown man, I do know that. But when was the last time you made decisions for yourself, instead of complying with a command?”

Bucky stuck his fork into his pasta and pushed it around the bowl. “1943,” he said. 

Clint nodded. “Okay, yeah, I get that. But this is now, and things are different. You can pull yourself back. Yes, I’m here to help you do that, but I believe in you, like Steve does. Look, it’s just a bowl of mac and cheese. It’s good, I promise. And don’t eat it because I’m telling you to, but because you’re hungry, you need it, and you want it.”

Something in Bucky seemed to relax at that, his head came up and his eyes looked brighter than before. And he stuck his fork in his food, and ate. 

******  
That evening Clint and Bucky talked into the small hours, sharing their experiences of mind control with honesty and mutual support. Clint also talked a lot about his family, and Bucky talked a little of what he could remember before the war. 

“You’ve missed out on so much,” commented Clint, the corners of his mouth drooping sadly. 

“But I’m still here,” replied Bucky. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me, right? That I can have it all now.”

“Exactly. So, my friend. If you could have anything, what would it be?”

Bucky gazed at Clint, concentrating on the right answer. 

“To be left alone,” he admitted. “A place of my own. Some green space. Maybe a dog?”

“You don’t mean you want to be completely on your own, though? Not now you have friends.”

“No, I kinda assumed I wouldn’t be getting rid of you guys any time soon.”

“Cool,” smiled Clint, getting up and stretching. “First house warming party you have, I’ll bring the pizza.”

“New York, not Chicago.”

“My God, what kind of person do you think I am!”

******  
Eventually, reluctantly, Bucky stood up, taking a few hesitant steps towards the bedroom. 

“Do you sleep?” asked Clint, guessing straight away what the issue was. 

Bucky shook his head in reply. 

“But last night…”

“Steve,” was Bucky’s only reply. 

Clint got to his feet and approached his new friend, tentatively. “Why don’t we leave the door open?” he suggested. “I’m only here. You’ll be able to hear me. And I promise, I won’t be mad if you need something.”

Bucky glanced into the bedroom and then back to the sofa. 

“Bucky,” said Clint, softly, “I’d suggest sharing the bed, but I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?”

Bucky lowered his head. 

“Well okay then. So we have a plan. Go get some rest.”

Bucky turned and made his way to the bedroom door, then paused for a moment, looking back at Clint. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“You’re welcome,” replied Clint, with a smile. “Sleep well.”

******

As the two men tried to settle into a routine Bucky found himself starting to look forward to the food that he and Clint shared. 

On the second day Clint had returned from his planned trip to the laundromat with not only Bucky’s clean clothes but also a large plastic container filled to the brim with Matzo Ball soup. Normally Clint couldn’t stop himself from talking through the course of every meal but, for this one, silence was golden. Both men slurped their way through the delicious soup, cutting into the matzo balls with gusto. It was almost a religious experience. 

Afterwards, Clint took a shower, while Bucky felt well enough to do the dishes, a warmth beginning to emanate through his body as well as his soul.

A knock on the door interrupted his work, but it wasn’t a knock that caused him any concern because it was three short raps followed by one short, one long, one short. 

“Bucky, you look great!” exclaimed Steve, as Bucky let him into the apartment. “You got colour on your cheeks and everything.”

“I’ve never eaten so much food,” admitted Bucky, shyly dipping his head to hide his face behind his hair. 

“I brought you some more clothes,” said Steve, taking a seat on the sofa and waiting for Bucky to join him. He placed a black rucksack on the floor and unzipped the top. “Some of my sports gear, pair of jeans, and a hoodie. A pair of trainers too, if they’ll fit.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“No problem. Have you been okay?”

Bucky ducked his head again, as if he didn’t want to show his true feelings.

“Buck?” Steve’s tone became concerned. “Whatever it is, you can ask me.”

“Can you stay?” came the whispered reply. 

“I’m so sorry, Buck. Really I am. But I’ve got five minutes, tops. But you’re okay with Clint, right?”

“He’s a good cook,” Bucky acknowledged. 

Steve laughed. “Well there you are then! I promise I’ll get back as soon as I can, and hopefully stay longer next time.”

He opened his arms, pulling Bucky into a warm embrace as they relaxed on the sofa. 

“This won’t be forever,” said Steve, quietly. “We’ll find a way to fix everything, you’ll see.”

“Stevie,” Bucky pulled back from the hug so that he could look Steve in the eye, judging his reaction as he slowly moved forward again, this time for a tentative, long awaited, kiss. 

“Oh hell, I’m so sorry!” Clint, dressed in nothing but a skimpy hand towel clutched around his hips, backed out of the room as fast as he had appeared. “Sorry!” he repeated, slamming the bathroom door shut after him. 

Steve threw his head back as he laughed, reluctantly moving away from Bucky and standing up. 

“I think that’s my cue!” he said, his smile fading when he realised Bucky wasn’t laughing with him. “Buck, it’s not that I don’t want to carry on with this… conversation. But I really do have to run. Would you hate me forever if I asked to take a rain check?”

“So embarrassing,” muttered Bucky. 

“Bucky?”

“Yes, okay. Rain check. But you owe me, Rogers.”

******

“I am so, so sorry,” said Clint, again. 

Once he’d heard Steve making his goodbyes and the front door had slammed shut, Clint left the sanctuary of the bathroom, still wearing his tiny hand towel. Bucky didn’t really know where to look, as Clint took Steve’s seat next to him on the sofa. 

“It’s okay,” said Bucky, staring straight ahead. 

Clint turned towards Bucky, with one arm draped over the chair back. “So, you and Steve?”

“Go back a long way.”

“Sure. Well, if there’s anything I can do, you know, to help. It’s what I’m here for.”

Clint’s hand on Bucky’s knee was just a little too close for comfort and Bucky stood up, abruptly. “I need to sleep,” he said, rushing to the bedroom and closing the door behind him. 

******

Over the years, so many atrocities had been inflicted on Bucky Barnes that now it was all over he struggled to make sense of it. What was worse, physical abuse or mental? Apart from the constant reminder in the form of his left arm, at least the physical torture was over now. But his mind was confused beyond measure, and most of this confusion manifested itself when he was asleep.

This particular night he found himself in the mind control chair again, resigned to his fate, unable to do anything but comply as a room full of people stood by and watched. The humiliation of it all was one of the many things on his list of issues that now needed to be worked through. 

This night, this sleep, this dream, found the laughing, arrogant face of Brock Rumlow, distorted and huge in size, filling Bucky’s entire consciousness. The pain of the halo as it encircled his head, the feel of leather and metal, the complete lack of control, all of it exploded in his mind as it blew him away. Rumlow’s laughter ringing long after the explosion died down. 

And then the laughter faded, to be replaced by a voice in the darkness. 

“Bucky? Hey, man. Wake up, come on.”

Bucky jerked awake, blinking in confusion through the gloom at the face of not Brock Rumlow, but Clint Barton, concerned, gentle, eager to help.

“Hi there. You back with me?”

Bucky nodded, unable to speak.

“It’s okay, I get it, I really do. But you’re safe here, nobody’s gonna hurt you like that again.” 

While he spoke Clint moved to lay on the bed next to Bucky, repeating the reassuring words in his soft drawl, and reaching up to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, bringing him back to the present. 

Bucky closed his eyes, allowing the negative images in his head to float away as he focussed on Clint’s words. And then it was more than words. Lips were being pressed to his own, gentle but firm, a tongue slipping between them. The hand in Bucky’s hair moving down, carefully stroking his injured shoulder, dipping underneath the blankets, and making its way down his stomach…

Bucky’s eyes flew open and he pulled away, only to have Clint follow him. 

“It’s okay, Bucky, this will help, make you feel better, feel loved. I can love you, if you’ll let me. Take all the badness away.”

“Steve…”

“No, not Steve,” replied Clint, his teeth glinting in the moonlight as he smiled. “Although, I could be, if that helped? Just keep those eyes closed…”

Clint’s fingers ran along the edge of Bucky’s shorts, before slipping in, grasping at the prize hidden inside. 

“Let me do this for you, Bucky,” the whispered words continued, as the fingers started to stroke. “You need tenderness, to be shown how loved you are, how good things can feel.”

Suddenly, Bucky found he did want this, to be cherished and loved. A lot worse had been done to this body during his tragic life. And Clint was nice, not Steve, but nice, but…

Not Steve.

The sound that came out of his mouth could only be described as a growl. With full force he pushed, hard, against Clint’s chest, slamming him back with such ferocity that the man fell off the bed onto the floor. 

“No!” screamed Bucky, aiming a punch that would have taken Clint’s head off if he hadn’t moved at the last second, instead smashing a hole through the floor board.

“Woah!” cried Clint, scrambling to get out of the way. He pulled himself to his feet and backed out of the room, holding his hands up to show surrender. “Jesus. I’m sorry, okay! Wrong signals, my fault, just leave my head where it is!”

Bucky slumped down into the corner of the room, squeezing himself into the space between the dresser and the nightstand. Reaching out with one hand he snagged hold of the bed cover and pulled, covering himself with it and hiding himself from view. 

With one, brief, look back, Clint left him to it, closing the door.

******

Clint Barton had experienced enough head injuries in his time, in fact he often joked to himself that if he had a dollar for every time he’d got a bump to the head he’d be richer than Tony Stark.

This time, he didn’t feel like joking. 

As a bad guys lair, he’d woken up in many that were worse. This place was strange, confusing. For a moment he wondered if he was still unconscious, because it appeared he was imprisoned in some kind of bank vault. 

He tried to raise his head, before immediately realising his mistake as bile rose in his mouth. He rolled to one side as best he could, and before violently emptying the contents of his stomach over the floor. 

With a groan, he rolled as far away from the stench as possible. Trying to focus through the pounding in his brain, he thought back to the last thing he remembered. 

He had been at the laundromat. The owner had asked him to help her with a delivery in the alley out back because there was a box she couldn’t lift. 

He’d been there with Bucky’s dirty clothes… Bucky. 

With his hands chained firmly behind his back and a head about to explode, there was little Clint could do. But a little was all he needed. 

He bent his knees, drawing his feet up so that one boot could slide under the other. With a spot of careful manoeuvring, the toe of his left foot at last found its target against the sole of his right. 

And, luckily, one press was enough. 

******

Another day had gone by. 

A day during which Clint was nothing but caring and thoughtful, tempting Bucky with a delicious lunch, and soothing him at a respectful distance. 

A day where they watched movies on the little TV together, and played cards using matchsticks as currency.

A day where Bucky finally felt strong enough to use the shower, revelling in the feel of hot water as it soothed his body, directing the hot jets against his shoulder. 

And then it happened, and, when it did, it was such a simple thing. 

Bucky stared at the huge, deep dish, pizza pie, containing a solid lump of molten cheese that no sane person would ever wish to eat. Clint was in the kitchen, twisting the top off his beer and complaining about not being able to get the brand that he liked best. And as he tipped the bottle to his lips for his first taste, Bucky’s eyes narrowed in sudden realisation and great suspicion. 

******

“Steve.”

“Bucky, is that you? Are you okay?”

“That isn’t Clint.” It had taken a lot for Bucky to make the call, to be sure enough of his suspicions to speak out, while at the same time making sure Clint couldn’t hear him from the other room. What he wasn’t expecting was Steve’s reply. 

“No, we know, he just set off his distress beacon and it’s not transmitting from your address.”

“What?!”

“Pipe down. It only just happened. Just tell me, where is he now?”

“Where do you think he is?” Bucky hissed into the phone. “Outside the room, eating pizza.”

“Actually, that’s not strictly accurate.”

Bucky’s head shot up to see Not Clint standing in the doorway, pointing a gun directly at Bucky. 

“What’s going on?” said Bucky, very aware that his phone was still connected to Steve. 

“Only one thing, Soldat,” replied Clint. “Longing. Rusted…”

Bucky dropped the phone, covering his ears with both hands and pressing hard, trying to block out the sound. 

Clint continued. “Seventeen. Daybreak.”

Bucky roared. “No!”

Distantly, in the midst of his mind shutting down, he was aware of Steve’s voice, calling out at him from the phone on the floor. 

“Furnace. Nine.”

Bucky was suddenly unable to do anything other than fall to his knees, the one advantage being that he was nearer to the phone. 

“Steve!” he cried. 

“Benign. Homecoming.”

“Stop!”

“One. Freight car.”

With smooth movements, Bucky calmly got to his feet and stood to attention. The Winter Soldier was present and correct. 

Not Clint stared at him, waiting for his reassurance that the trigger had worked.

Bucky could say only one thing. 

“Ready to Comply.”

*****

“The safehouse is empty,” Steve barked into his coms, staring around the little apartment at the evidence of a hurried exit. 

“Stick to the plan, Cap,” Sam’s voice echoed in his ear. 

“Rogers out.”

It took everything he had to pull himself together but this was not the time for the feelings that were bubbling under the surface. The shock that Bucky was missing, taken by the enemy. The aching terror that Bucky had been turned, once again, into the Winter Soldier. Or, worse, was dead.

This was not the time, not at all. 

******

“Shouldn’t we wait for Steve?” Sam asked, in hushed tones. He and Natasha were tucked into a corner of the building opposite the target, the place where Clint’s destress signal had been traced to. 

“I say we go in,” replied Natasha. “Anything could be happening in there.”

“Which is exactly why we should wait for Steve.”

“Then feel free to stay right here.” Natasha gave Sam a look that he, luckily, correctly interpreted, and the two of them made their way across the street and into the Bank. 

******

It’s strange how events change your perception of things. Because if Clint hadn’t read The Winter Soldier file and seen all the photographs of the ‘treatment’ Bucky had received, he wouldn’t be at all worried by what he now saw before him.

But he had read the files and when he realised what he was looking at he suddenly felt as though somebody had poured a bucket of freezing cold water over him. 

He started to struggle, in vain, as he was pulled, bodily, towards the huge chair-like apparatus that dominated the centre of the room. When the guards released the chains that were holding his arms behind his back he swung at them, managing to land a couple of punches before he was once again overcome. 

And then he was forced into the chair and chained into position, his arms gripped by metal levers. Two of the guards held him in place as a steel halo descended around his head, he was distantly aware of some buttons on a keyboard being pressed, and then his whole world exploded. 

******

“Natasha,” hissed Sam, “we need a plan.”

“I have a plan,” replied Natasha, gripping her Widow’s bites in her hands just in time as the first of the guards appeared in the corridor before them. 

“Aw hell,” muttered Sam, before brandishing his own weapons and leaping into the fray. 

******

“There, that’s right. You back with me?”

Clint struggled back to consciousness, blinking in the bright overhead lights. 

“Must be dreaming…” he slurred. 

“That’s nice. Why don’t you tell me what you’re dreaming about.”

Clint squinted at the man who was seated in front of him. “I think it was something about how ugly you are. Jesus, you look like someone threw a building at your face.”

The man laughed bitterly. “You’re not wrong there, my friend.”

“Friend…”

“That’s right. You see, Black Widow, that bitch, put all the Shield files on the net. So I heard all about you, pretty boy. How you had been up close and personal with The Tesseract. And I need that thing. I really, really, need it. So, what we just did to you? That’s just the start. Unless you tell me what I need to know.”

“That thing is way above my pay grade,” said Clint. 

“You think? Well, let’s see if there’s another way I can persuade you. Ja’zeth, bring our friend out here.”

Clint swallowed, using the brief respite to try to pull himself together. And then he stared in disbelief at the vision before him, as his own identical twin walked into the room with Bucky Barnes close behind.

“Rumlow,” said Ja’zeth. “We don’t have time for this.”

“This is all there is,” snapped Rumlow. “This is everything.”

“The Avengers will know we’re gone by now,” said Ja’zeth, firmly. “We need to leave.”

Rumlow gestured to Bucky, ignoring the Skrull. “You, Asset. Get over here.”

Bucky approached the chair, gazing at Clint in the same way you might gaze at a zoo exhibit. Clint returned his stare, openly, hoping that there might be a slither of recognition in there. 

“You do know,” said Rumlow, “what he is capable of doing.”

Clint dragged his attention back to Rumlow. “I do know, yes. It won’t make any difference. I don’t know where the Tesseract is.”

Rumlow got to his feet with a little difficulty, his body evidently still suffering from life changing injuries. He grabbed the crutch which had been leaning against the chair, and propped it under his right arm. 

“Convince him otherwise,” he instructed Bucky, before turning and starting to limp away. 

Clint closed his eyes as The Winter Soldier approached him, unwilling to watch as the man he had so recently called friend spread the fingers of his flesh hand around Clint’s throat. This close, he could hear Bucky breathing, smell the scent of shampoo that he recognised as his own. And then, something unexpected happened. Clint felt Bucky’s metal arm as it snaked around his waist, snapping the chains and breaking the locking mechanism that was keeping him pinned into the chair. 

And sometimes, just occasionally, things work out as if they had been planned that way. 

Natasha and Sam leapt into the room, dealing with any Hydra agent that was stupid enough to show resistance, just as Captain America appeared behind them, hurling his shield at Rumlow with the full force of his power. As the shield boomeranged back to its owner Steve leapt at Rumlow, following up his attack with a series of punches that left the man unconscious on the floor. In the same instant Bucky turned away from Clint and shot Ja’Zeth clean through the head. 

As the Skrull’s life faded away, so did the likeness of Clint Barton that he had been wearing like a cheap suit. 

The sight of his own face transforming back into that of a reptilian alien was one strain too many for Clint, whose body suddenly remembered that he’d recently been tortured and had concussion. Luckily, he was still sitting in the chair as he passed out. 

******  
SHIELD may have their problems, but they were still good at cleaning up any mess that Hydra could make. Steve made sure that Natasha and Sam took Clint straight back to Avengers Tower for treatment, while he liaised with Maria Hill and the team. 

He was aware of Bucky sitting quietly in a corner but had to force himself to pay attention to Maria, allowing her to debrief him as quickly as possible. 

At last, he was free to go, as he cautiously approached his friend. 

“Bucky, you with me?”

Bucky gazed up at him, gaunt and dark eyed. Not as bad as that night Steve found him, but not far off. 

He didn’t answer Steve’s question but he did reach out his right hand, which Steve took hold of and used to pull him upright. 

“Come on,” said Steve, gently. “Let’s get back to the others.”

******

When they got back to Avengers Tower Steve led Bucky straight up to the medical floor. They entered the treatment room where Clint Barton was already laying on a bed, being assessed by the triage nurse. 

Bucky walked straight across to his injured friend and stood at the bedside. 

“Hey, man,” said Clint. “You okay?”

Bucky stared at him, still struggling to find his voice. 

“Bucky?” asked Steve, softly. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Clint.

Bucky finally found his voice. “Where did they snatch you?”

Clint looked a little embarrassed. 

“Can you believe when I was at the laundromat, washing your dirty socks.”

“What?” Bucky turned his back on them all, his heart racing. When… when had it happened? When had Clint, one of the few people Bucky had come to trust, been taken from him and replaced by some alien? 

Clint had gone to the laundromat just after Steve had found him, just before… 

“No…” he whispered. 

“What’s wrong?” asked Steve, stepping up close to him but knowing better than to touch.

“It wasn’t Clint” replied Bucky, turning to look Steve right in the eye. “They took him before… It was all fake after that, all of it.”

“Bucky…” Steve reached out to him but Bucky pulled away, as if his touch might burn him.

“No! What about you? Were you real? Was anything?!” Bucky was on the verge of hysteria, his voice shaking with emotion.

“Of course I’m real, Buck,” replied Steve. “Bucky…” Steve tried once again, placing his hand on Bucky’s arm. He gave a light pull and directed Bucky out of the room and into the waiting area, encouraging Bucky to sit on a small sofa. Then he went to the cooler and filled a plastic cup with cold water. 

Sitting down next to his friend, he offered him the cup. Bucky instinctively reached out but his hand was shaking so hard he couldn’t take it, so Steve placed it to his lips and let him sip at the cooling liquid.

“Okay?” he asked, ducking his head slightly to look beneath Bucky’s bangs. “Tell me what happened? I heard him saying a series of strange words to you. I’m guessing they were some kind of trigger?”

“It wasn’t Clint,” whispered Bucky. “And the words didn’t work. Not since…”

“Not since?” 

“Till the end of the line.”

Steve’s face burst into a smile. “Since the heli carrier? I broke your brainwashing?”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t share Steve’s delight. Instead, his eyes started to pool with tears. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t Clint,” repeated Bucky, his cheeks flushed pink.

“Bucky?” 

Both men looked up at Clint Barton who was standing in the doorway, supported on each side by Sam and Natasha. 

“Here,” said Steve, immediately getting up and helping Clint to take his seat beside Bucky. 

“Thanks, Cap.”

Clint reached out to Bucky, who instantly flinched and pulled back away from him. 

“Bucky,” said Clint, his voice soft. “Did he do something to you when he was pretending to be me?”

Bucky hesitated, flashing a look at Steve, and then back to Clint. He nodded and lowered his head. 

Clint took a sharp intake of breath, realisation coming to him in a wave. 

“Bucky, hey, Bucky,” he waited until Bucky put his head back up. “I promise you, I’m me. I’m the one who bought you bagels, and let you beat me at pinochle. I’m sorry this lizard guy messed with your head, but I promise you I’m me now. And I’d like to get the chance to be your friend, if you’ll let me. Just your friend. Nothing else, I promise.”

“Stevie?” whispered Bucky, looking up at his friend for reassurance.

“It’ll be okay, Buck,” replied Steve, leaning forward and placing an arm around Bucky’s shoulders to pull him forward into a hug, with Clint joining in on the other side. 

Over by the doorway, a little unhappy at being left out, Sam pulled Natasha into an embrace that she resisted at first, but only for a second. 

******

“Okay, hold on. Don’t shoot. You see where you’re going?”

“Mmm.”

“Okay, now let’s worry about how you get there.”

Clint busied himself correcting Bucky’s stance. 

“Here. Can you see?”

“Yeah,” replied Bucky.

“You sure?”

“Mmm.”

Clint flicked Bucky’s hair in front of his left eye, grinning cheekily. 

“How bout now?”

“Jerk.”

“Alright. Ready your fingers. And don’t grip the bow too hard, that metal arm will break it. That’s it. Mind your elbow.”

With a careful balance of concentration and relaxation, Bucky loosed the arrow, squinting in surprise as it hit the target dead centre. 

“Ha!” exclaimed Clint, pride in his voice. “Good job, Hawkeye! Go get your arrow.”

“Come on, you two, soups on,” called Steve, loading up a plate of burgers and hot dogs from where Tony was busily grilling them. 

Sam and Natasha were finishing laying the table, while Bruce and Thor had arrived from the kitchen carrying two huge trays groaning with salads, potatoes and slaw. 

Bucky wandered over to the target and released his latest arrow, before turning and taking in the scene before him. 

As roof terraces go, it was a pretty awesome one. A hot tub bubbled in one corner, and the picnic table was spread in the middle with bench seats on both sides. Other guests were taking their seats, Tony’s girl with the weird name, Colonel Rhodes, Nick Fury and Maria Hill. Thor made a big fuss of making sure his girlfriend, Jane, was seated comfortably. And then there was some wrinkly old guy who apparently had been on Stark’s team for years and never got left out of anything. 

If Bucky had ever had anything like this in his life, then he couldn’t remember it. These friends, who had welcomed him into their world, who embraced him on a daily basis and made him feel loved. And this man, his Stevie, who, for some reason known only to him, regularly behaved as though Bucky was the centre of his entire universe. 

Bucky had never felt so loved and so at peace. 

And as Steve came to take his hand and lead him to the table, Bucky knew he had finally found his home. 

His days of social distancing were finally over.


End file.
